


a heart that will not ever go astray

by seasidhe (sidhedcv)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet Collection, M/M, no beta we die like men, the modern setting is only for the first ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28841559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidhedcv/pseuds/seasidhe
Summary: A collection of ficlets for the 2021 Charthur Week!1. Modern AU - “Sadie... who’s that feller?”2. Under the stars - "Would you dance with me?"3. Campfire - Charles has never thought of Arthur as someone who could have a broken heart.4. Cuddling for warmth - “John. We have a house, we’ve been living together in the same house, next to your house. Together, alone, under the same roof.”5. Patching up wounds - When Abigail yells Arthur's name, Charles doesn't dare to hope.6. Building a home - Charles wants to build them a house.7. Til the end - Arthur is still barely alive when Charles finds him.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 22
Kudos: 76
Collections: Charthur Week 2021





	1. Modern AU

Everyone who has met him more than once knows that Arthur doesn't like crowded places.

It's not that he's not friendly, or that he doesn't like people. He does. He likes talking with them, likes meeting new people, likes spending time with the ones he already knows. There's just... something in big crowds that Arthur finds unnerving.

That's why he likes Hosea's coffee shop so much. It's a small place, cozy and quiet, with the best coffee in the whole town - and really good cookies, too.

It doesn't hurt that Hosea lets him often have coffee for free.

The perks of being his adoptive son. Well, perks of being his adoptive son, but not being John.

"You okay there, Arthur?" Sadie asks, from the seat at the same table. She's sipping on the darkest coffee Arthur has ever seen - he's not even sure that's what coffee should look like. Tar? Yes. Coffee? Not so much.

"Yeah, of course," Arthur replies absentmindedly, too busy trying to sketch the new horse Dutch bought a few weeks ago. There's nothing like a quiet afternoon at the coffee shop with his sketchbook. Well, Arthur would much prefer to be out in the open air, but it's been pouring for hours and that's not the best weather to go and draw stuff.

The tiny bell on the door rings happily and suddenly the sound of the rain fills the small room.

And there, right in front of the counter, with a tired look on his face and dripping wet, stands the most gorgeous man Arthur has ever seen in his entire, miserable life. He's wearing a tight pair of jeans and a blue shirt with a dotted white pattern, made almost transparent by the rain.

Arthur's throat feels like a goddamn desert, and he does his best to look away. Except his eyes have apparently stopped answering him, and he's still staring at the gorgeous man. Arthur can feel his face start to heat, and he's sure he's blushing.

Goddamn.

The man (and Arthur should really stop thinking about him as _the gorgeous man)_ chats for a few moments with Hosea, orders a coffee, and then looks around the room. His eyes meet Arthur's, and suddenly Arthur feels incredibly conscious about his crinkled clothes and his scruffy beard.

The other man looks at him for a few more seconds and then nods toward Sadie. When Hosea hands him the coffee, he nods again and then leaves.

“Sadie... who’s that feller?” Arthur asks when he finds his voice back, trying to ignore how Sadie snickers way too loudly at his question.

“That’s Charles Smith. Dutch says he’s good with the horses. He's helping out at the farm.”

Goddamn. Of course, he's also good with the horses. Why not.

“Why do you ask?”

“Shut it,” Arthur growls back and then proceeds to drown his embarrassment in the big ass cup of coffee that sits in front of him. "I was only wondering."

"Oh, that's called _wondering_ now?"

Arthur can hear Hosea's laughter from the other side of the room.


	2. under the stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Didn't know you knew how to dance."  
> "Well," Arthur lets out one of his trademark self-deprecating snorts. "I don't. I know how to move around without stepping on someone else's feet. That's all."  
> Charles rolls his eyes - and this just further proves that Arthur should've kept looking at the stars.  
> "Would you dance with me?"

It's a beautiful night, warm and clear, without a cloud hiding the sky.

Arthur is smoking alone, leaning against the trunk of a solid tree, a few steps away from the camp. He still gets to hear the sounds, Javier's guitar, the girls singing, and someone else laughing, but this way it's quiet. Calmer.

He's glad they feel like celebrating - someone contributed with more money than usual to the camp funds, and one of the few odd jobs they're all doing actually went well. It's nothing much, but Sean said it was good to celebrate even smaller successes, and for once, Arthur agrees with him.

Sometimes they tend to forget that the morale of the gang is important too.

Hearing their laughs is good for him, too. Until the moment Tilly took his hand to dance, Arthur hadn't even realized just how much stressed he was.

Now he's a bit less stressed, with a decent amount of alcohol in his body, and still a bit breathless from all the dancing around. Arthur knows he's not a great dancer, but he's still better than Sean. And at least he managed not to step on Mary-Beth's feet, unlike Kieran.

"You done with the party?" Arthur asks to the darkness around him, and Charles Smith makes his way out of the cover of the dark.

"You heard me coming."

"Please. I know you did it on purpose. If you didn't want to be heard by me, you could’ve done that without any problems."

"True," Charles huffs with a laugh and steals his cigarette.

Arthur hums something under his breath, eyes turned to the starry sky above them. As much as he doesn't like this goddamn place, with all the humidity and the rednecks, he has to admit this particular evening is stunning.

If Hosea were here, he'd say Arthur is looking at the sky to avoid looking at Charles. And he'd be right, because Hosea is usually right. As much as the starry sky is beautiful, Arthur knows there's someone much more gorgeous right beside him, and he also knows he'd made a fool out of himself with so much alcohol in his body and no one around.

So it's safer to look at the sky.

"You weren't enjoying yourself?" Charles asks after a while, leaning against the same tree. He's so close Arthur can almost feel Charles' hand touching his own. Too close not to look at him and, goddamn.

Charles' eyes and his quiet smile are a greater marvel than any starry sky - and isn't that something straight out of one of Mary-Beth's books? Arthur feels like a fool, standing there with such thoughts swirling in his mind. But then again, Arthur often feels like a fool when Charles is involved.

"No, I just needed a moment of quiet. You know me," Arthur huffs and Charles smiles again.

"Didn't know you knew how to dance."

"Well," Arthur lets out one of his trademark self-deprecating snorts. "I don't. I know how to move around without stepping on someone else's feet. That's all."

Charles rolls his eyes - and this just further proves that Arthur should've kept looking at the stars.

"Would you dance with me?"

Arthur feels suddenly completely unable to talk. To breathe, even, and that's not the cigarette's fault. His throat feels dry and parched and Charles is looking at him like he's waiting for something - _for an answer, you big dumbass_ \- and all he can do is just stare at him with eyes wide open and no words.

Charles' smile looks more like a grin. The same exact one he always sports when he manages to compliment him and Arthur's face gets all flustered. He doesn't talk, and Arthur still is unable to answer.

But Arthur feels like he should know, by now, that Charles Smith is a man of actions, not words.

A few seconds later, Arthur finds himself extremely close to Charles, with a hand on his shoulder and Charles leading the way. A few seconds later, they're dancing.

Arthur feels his heart hammering wildly in his chest, and as much as he tries, he can't tear his eyes away from Charles. They've kissed, they've fucked, they've done many other things way bigger than this. And yet this feels so much more intimate, much gentler than anything else they've ever done.

Charles leads him steadily, and a few seconds later Arthur's heart calms down. It's different from what Arthur was doing at the camp, half an hour ago. It's different, less relaxed, and slightly more awkward. Arthur stumbles once, and Charles loses his footing another time.

It's still the best dance Arthur has ever had in his entire life.

Above them, the stars shine bright.


	3. campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has never thought of him as someone who could have a broken heart.

Arthur has been sitting at the campfire for the past two hours, and that alone should've been enough to realize there's something terribly wrong with him. Charles has never seen him sitting without doing anything - he's not even drawing or scribbling away in his notebook - for more than twenty minutes.

There's wood to be chopped and the horses need feeding, and yet Arthur is sitting still, staring at the flames with an intense expression. Well, intense. If looks could kill that fire would be extinguished.

"What's wrong with him?" Hosea asks when it becomes clear to him too that Arthur is not his usual self.

"I have no idea," Charles answers trying not to sound too worried. Hosea knows a lot of things, and judging by the way he always asks _him_ about Arthur, he knows way more than Charles is comfortable thinking right now.

Hosea rolls his eyes and flicks him on the shoulder just as he'd do with a kid. As he does with Jack when the kid is being unreasonable, or with John almost every day for a variety of different reasons.

Charles thinks he should be offended, but he's really not.

"You saw anything unusual?"

"Not that I know of, no. I saw him reading a letter, nothing else."

"A letter?" Hosea asks, a suspicious look in his eyes. Mary-Beth joins them at that same moment, with a mean scowl that resembles Miss Grimshaw's one.

"A letter from Mary Gillis. She's asking for help after she broke his heart! The nerve of that girl."

Hosea visibly bristles, and Charles isn't sure if it's because of what Mary-Beth said, or if it's because she said it in front of Charles. Probably both.

Charles does his best not to feel like he's intruding on something private - he's doing precisely that, even if it's not his own fault. Hosea seems to come to the same decision because he turns to him and whispers something about this Mary Gillis, the woman who apparently broke Arthur's Morgan heart.

Charles remains silent, unsure of what he should say. He doesn't even know what to think, honestly. He's seen Arthur Morgan as an enforcer, as a gunman. He has seen him angry, fighting viciously to kill someone or to keep someone else alive. He has seen him happy, embarrassed, tired, and quiet.

But Charles has never thought of him as someone who could have a broken heart.

Arthur is still staring at the flame, but what Charles sees in his eyes is no longer anger. He recognizes it as something else, something that makes his chest tighten with sorrow. Hosea saw that too because he knows Arthur better than anyone else.

"Arthur," Charles calls, stepping towards the campfire. "Let's go hunting."

"What- you mean right now?"

"Yes, now."

Arthur looks a bit confused, but something in Charles' voice convinces him not to argue. He gets up, nods briefly, and takes what he needs to go hunting.

It's not much, but if Charles can do something, _anything_ , to keep the sorrow away from Arthur's eyes, he'll do it.


	4. cuddling for warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You never told me!"  
> “John. We have a house, we’ve been living together in the same house, next to your house. Together, alone, under the same roof.”  
> “Well, yeah! As two bachelors! Like- friends, sharing a house!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this! Almost everybody lived happily ever after at Beecher’s Hope! The best RDR2 ending!!  
> (Obviously, this is a fix-it.)

Nights in the Great Plains are colder than you would expect. Beecher’s Hope is safe and warm, and it gives cover from the wind and the darkness. It doesn’t give cover, though, to the feeling of tightness that former outlaws might experience, after a lifetime of sleeping in the wilderness.

That might explain why there’s a campfire in the middle of the ranch, and why they’re all spending almost every evening together, out in the open. They spent a whole winter huddled in the houses, trying to stay warm, and now that it's _cold, yes, but not freezing_ , they've finally started spending their evening out together again.

Jack is playing with sticks and stones, possibly recreating one of the scenes from one of his favorite books - Arthur will never stop being amazed by the vivid imagination of that kid.

Abigail is sitting behind him, keeping an eye on her kid and the other on the fire, and they’re lucky to have her, really. John is sitting next to her, exchanging insults with Uncle, who seems to be doing good with a nice bottle of _something_ in his hand.

Sadie is there too, busy exchanging stories of what she saw during her last _business trip_ with Charles, who sits between her and Arthur.

Arthur was drawing earlier when his eyes weren’t tired yet and the fire was still burning bright enough for him to see his journal. Now he’s resting, leaning comfortably against Charles’ side.

As far as a happy ending goes, this one isn’t bad at all.

Charles seems to somehow guess what Arthur is thinking, and he brushes his fingers against Arthur’s leg in a covert way.

Arthur shivers, half because of the cold and half because Charles’ fingers always have that kind of power over him, and Sadie chuckles lightly.

“I guess storytime’s over, isn’t it?”

“Someone here requires my attention,” Charles sounds as serious as he could be, but Arthur knows him far too well not to hear the light undertone of that sentence.

“I’m cold,” he declares deciding to ignore the teasing tone, huddling closer to Charles.

And maybe it's because they spent almost every winter night alone together, maybe it's because it's late and they're tired, but for once neither he nor Charles seem to worry about being affectionate in front of other people.

And why should they? That's their family.

Charles sneaks his arm around Arthur's shoulders, and Arthur sighs happily, a warm feeling of contentment spreading through his chest. Charles chuckles lightly against his hair and leaves a light kiss on the top of his head.

"What- isn't that a little bit too much?"

"What are you talking about, John?" Abigail asks with an exasperated sigh, almost like she's already good to go and ready to yell.

"I mean- that's a little bit... you know. Two men. Being affectionate. You know."

There's a stunned moment of silence when they're all collectively trying to figure out what the fuck John is talking about. After a few seconds, Arthur realizes what's going on.

"You mean you didn't know?"

"Didn't know what?"

"You didn't know?" Sadie yells, half screaming and half laughing, almost falling backward on the ground. "John Marston, you didn't fucking know?"

"Know what? What the fuck are you talking about?" John yells in response, red in the face, and with that look in his eyes that means _stop making fun of me or I'll leave stomping my feet on the ground_. It's a look that Arthur knows far too well.

"John. Arthur and Charles," Abigail begins to explain, with the usual patient tone. She must be a saint, Arthur thinks, still huddled close to Charles. But she chose John, so it's up to her to deal with the fact that her husband is as dense as a goddamn brick. "You know they're together."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"What the fuck do you think it means?" Sadie howls, still half on the verge of laughter and half on the verge of yelling.

There's another moment of stunned silence - there are a lot of those for a single evening, in Arthur's honest opinion - while John tries to understand what they're all implying.

"You mean to tell me- you two are together. Like _together_ together."

"You finally got it," Uncle whoops from behind the bottle.

"And you _all_ knew it?"

"Well, we're not blind," Abigail intervenes, probably trying to make her husband see reason. "They run away together, with us. They've been together for a long while, John."

“But you never told me!” John yells, this time directed to Arthur.

Arthur huffs, still leaning against Charles - still with Charles' arm around him, and Arthur has never loved Charles' ability to seem unphased more than he does now. John has a wild look in his eyes, but Arthur knows him well enough not to be worried. Well, not too much.

"You never told me!"

“John. We have a house, we’ve been living together in the same house, next to your house. Together, alone, under the same roof.”

“Well, yeah! As two bachelors! Like- friends, sharing a house!”

“I suppose we are all of those things,” Charles chuckles and proceeds to ignores John’s dirty look. "You didn't notice we have only one bed?"

"I-" John starts protesting again, and then falls silent. "Well, now that you mention it."

By now Sadie is sprawled on the ground, laughing her lungs out, joined by Abigail's light chuckles and Uncle's braying laughter. Even Jack's smiling, with a bit more edge than usual.

John looks like he's mortally offended, and probably he is. Arthur waits for a few minutes more, before untangling himself from Charles and grabbing John's arm, taking him a few steps away from the campfire.

"John."

"It's not that I have a problem. I don't. I don't have a problem with that, with you. With- you get it. I don't care what you two do together, I don't, I'm happy for you. It's clear this makes you happy and I want you to be happy. I don't have a problem with that. It's just- I wished you'd tell me."

"Stop whining."

"... You should have told me, though."

Across the fire, Charles laughs and Abigail rolls her eyes. Sadie will probably never stop laughing, and Uncle will probably never stop making fun of John.

Arthur is secretly way too happy to give him too much of a hard time.


	5. patching up wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Abigail yells Arthur's name, Charles doesn't dare to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A missing moment that definitely happened in the game.

When Abigail yells Arthur's name, Charles doesn't dare to hope.

Arthur has been gone for too long, and Charles doesn't really have high hopes for happiness in his own life. He has been through too many bad things, too many things that seemed great and turned out shit, to feel the need for hoping.

Charles has come to terms with the fact that Arthur is probably dead, at the bottom of the ocean. He's been having nightmares for the past few weeks - dead bodies and skeletons and waves higher than mountains -, and every time Charles wakes up, he has to steady himself to face the fact that Arthur Morgan is dead. Charles is doing his best to keep the gang together, to keep Abigail from breaking down, to help Sadie lead the gang now that half of them are gone. He's doing his best not to break down himself because the thought of Arthur's being gone forever claws at his chest and drags him down.

But then someone else yells Arthur's name, and a few seconds later the door of the hut they've been staying in opens, and Arthur is... right there.

Arthur is right there, like nothing ever happened, like they didn't spend the last weeks thinking he was dead at the bottom of the ocean. Arthur is right there, greeting everybody, ready to be put to work, as always.

Charles has to keep everything inside, has to greet Arthur with a quick and meaningless hug, and has to be content with that. Charles has to wait excruciating long hours - and, of course, a goddamn shooting and another narrow escape on top of everything else - to do the only thing he really wanted to do.

Arthur is resting in his arms, hours later, in the quiet of the night. Charles has spent most of the time checking for injuries and wounds, despite Arthur's many reassurances. He doesn't look good, he never looks good lately, but this is worse than usual.

He looks tired and haunted, and when Charles finally understands the extent of what happened on Guarma, he thinks he can understand why.

There's really nothing he can do to help Arthur, not now, not after everything already happened. Not after all the people they lost, not after everything else.

"I can't let John die too," Arthur whispers against Charles' shoulder, eyes closed and a tired look on his face. "I don't want to see anyone else die."

"You won't," Charles promise, even though he knows he can't promise shit. He knows there's no guarantee that John will survive, that any of them will survive. But he can't look at Arthur, he can't look at that defeated look and let him face this on his own. He can't.

He won't.

Arthur may not have any physical wounds, not at the moment at least, but there are other, deeper wounds Charles worries about.


	6. building a home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles wants to build them a house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tuberculosis? Who that? I don't know her.

There are a number of different houses, huts, and cabins that they could find and fix up a bit. Arthur has been around this country long and around enough to know where to find a fair share of those, empty or not, secluded or close enough to other people.

Arthur is pretty sure they could've even gone with Charlotte's house, up north Roanoke Valley. She would've been happy to know the house was used by someone trusted - as much as that word still makes Arthur huff.

But no, after all that time together, it turns out that Charles is kind of traditional, as much as a former outlaw can be traditional.

He wants to build them a house.

They've found a secluded place, far enough from any kind of civilization they probably won't have any problems, and still close enough to at least one settlement so that they can get anything they might need.

(And Arthur has to admit, they chose a beautiful place. It's quiet and almost hidden in the forest, close to a small river near where Arthur loves to spend time drawing. Or just sitting there, with all the time they have to kill. It's the only thing they have to kill, nowadays, other than their meals. It's weird but nice.)

But Charles has decided they have to build a house, after years of sleeping in tents around a campfire.

Arthur has never done anything like this, in his entire life. Nothing this manual, nothing that meant he was actually _building_ something. Destroying things, yes. Setting up a tent, yes. Nothing more than that.

At first, he's mainly distracted by Charles.

And it's not his fault, it really isn't. It's summer and it's hot, and Charles is building them a nice, little house basically from scratch, and he's doing it shirtless, and Arthur is very, very distracted. Extremely so.

They end up engaging in more _exciting_ activities, one or two times. Maybe three, and it definitely wasn’t Arthur’s fault.

After a while, though, Arthur begins to enjoy the work they’re doing.

There’s something calming about manual working, especially when he knows they’re working for themselves, there's something that helps him not to think too much.

Working keeps his mind off the dark things that fill his mind.

Working on something that will become _their_ house has the added benefit of making Arthur’s heart flutter with something he rarely felt during the rest of his life.

“I rode to the postal office this morning, left the _wrong_ address so that if Sadie and John want to write, they can find us without anyone else finding us,” Charles smiles from behind a wood board. Arthur has no idea what that is for, but he trusts Charles, and he trusts the process.

“That’s great.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind being so far away from any sort of civilization?”

“Me?” Arthur snorts, hammering a nail in the exact spot Charles was pointing. “Civilization? Since when do I like civilization?”

“Fair point,” Charles laughs, and once again Arthur is left with a hammering heart and a really dumb smile on his lips. Charles is looking at him with such loving eyes that Arthur has to look away for a few seconds. He's still not used to it, he's still not used to _all_ of this.

He's still not used to the thought that they're building their own house together. That they will get to spend the rest of their life, however long they'll be, together. He's still not used to the thought that he might actually deserve this. Charles seems to think so, and Arthur trusts Charles more than he trusts himself.

"Everything okay?" Charles asks, worried as usual.

“Everything more than okay. But, uh- see there, Charles? There’s a stain on your shirt. A big one.”

“Oh, is there?”

“Yup. Might as well take it off.”

It’ll take a while to build the house. Arthur doesn't mind.


	7. til the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is still barely alive when Charles finds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon? What's canon?

Arthur is still barely alive when Charles finds him.

The starry sky is above him, and Arthur is pretty sure he can hear the waves crashing down on the shore and the sounds of the ocean. Which is utterly absurd, since they're nowhere near the ocean. That tells a lot about the kind of pain he's in.

Arthur tries to focus on the absurdity of his mind, because focusing on how much he's hurting it's too much and doesn't do him any good. He'd like to die, as soon as possible, because the pain is too much and his whole body feels on fire.

Charles finds him like this, gasping for air, covered in blood and with his eyes towards the sky and the imminent dawn.

"No," Charles says tersely, quietly, like he's simply stating something. No, like he's saying _no, this won't do, I simply won't accept this turn of events_.

Arthur laughs, and then coughs up some more blood, and then hates himself for laughing because every single part of his body is in pain and, really, he should've known better than that.

"It's okay," he tries to say even if he's struggling to breathe and talking is so difficult he feels like crying from the pain, and Charles seems to understand what he's trying to say.

This doesn't mean he seems to accept it.

"I won't let you die," Charles whispers with so much determination in his voice that for a single moment, Arthur even believes him. But it's out of his hands, obviously, there's nothing Charles can do, there's nothing anyone can do.

Arthur has lived long enough to know when the end is near.

"It's okay," he croaks out again, and then he can't keep his eyes open anymore. At least he got to see Charles for one last time. At least he got that, it's so much more than he deserved.

Dying with Charles' image in his eyes it's not that bad.

Except Arthur doesn't die.

Except Arthur finds himself, hours and hours later, deprived of the sound of the ocean ( _what ocean, Morgan, really?_ ) and in so much more pain than before. He's pretty sure he shouldn't be feeling pain, not after his own death.

So he's alive, that much is clear.

Charles is next to him, and Arthur has no idea where they are or what is going on.

"I told you I won't let you die," Charles says once again.

Arthur blacks out again only a few minutes later.

After a few days, there's only one thing that Arthur knows with absolute certainty.

Charles brought him back from the dead with his sheer willpower. There's no other possible explanation, by all accounts Arthur should've died that day. He didn't. He's still alive and he's slowly recovering, even if Charles still looks worried.

Arthur is still alive, and it's all because of Charles.

Arthur heard him during the first night, whispering prayers and cursing under his breath at the same time. Asking anyone who could hear him for help, for Arthur to live. Arthur heard him cry, heard him ask for nothing more than a chance to be happy. Arthur heard him pray for his life, after all the other lives Charles had to let go. He still hears him pray, night after night, for God or Gods or the Spirits of this world, or the devil himself to let him have this one thing. Just this one.

Arthur would like to tell Charles that he's not worth it, that there's so much more he could have in this life, so many more people better than him.

But then again, what would Arthur do if he could have the chance to have Hosea back? If he had the chance to save John, or Jack, or Sadie. What would Arthur do if he was holding a dying Charles between his arms, other than beg for his life?

Arthur doesn't feel like he's worth it.

Arthur doesn't have to decide.

When the fever breaks and the terrible pain starts slowing down, Arthur manages to ask Charles.

"Why did you do it?"

"You know why," Charles answer without looking at him, almost like he was still afraid to see him go. "I couldn't let you- die. I couldn't."

"Charles-"

"And don't you start with all those _I don't deserve it_ nonsense."

"I just wanted to say I'm glad. I'm glad you came back for me."

There's so much left unsaid, so many things Arthur doesn't have the strength to say out loud and so many things they should probably talk about. There will come a day when Arthur will need to face the fact that he's always a little bit too ready to die.

There will be time for that, Arthur hopes.

For now, he can simply hold on tight to Charles' hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it! Thank you all so much for all the kudos and the kind words, I'm glad you liked this little ficlet collection!  
> Come find me on twitter @seasidhe if you want to chat!


End file.
